


When I Run Out of Road, You Bring Me Home

by Flower_Flame_Princess



Series: Stucky Bingo 2020 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angel Steve Rogers, Angel Wings, Angel/Demon AU, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angels, Demon Bucky Barnes, Demons, Fallen Angel, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stucky Bingo, Stucky Bingo 2020, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25267027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flower_Flame_Princess/pseuds/Flower_Flame_Princess
Summary: For the Stucky Bingo: Angel/Demon~It's a pain in his back that refuses to go away, no matter what he does or tries. He doesn't think he can handle it much longer.Bucky thinks he should have come earlier.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Stucky Bingo 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830520
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124
Collections: Stucky Bingo 2020





	When I Run Out of Road, You Bring Me Home

There were various things in life that never changed. No matter how the tides turned, no matter which empires fall and which rose from the ashes like blazing fires of eternity, they stayed the same, like oceans and volcanoes. Taxes were one of those things. No matter what time you lived in, taxes would always be there with you, whether you were an old Egyptian, or a modern day rock star. Death was one of those things as well. An eternal something that took people away from earth and to places no one had ever come back from. The third thing was the pain in Steve’s back. 

For as long as he could remember, it had been there with him; the pain that never went away. He had been born with it, he guessed, as his mother had often told him how he would cry as a baby when his back was touched. She went to a hundred doctors with him, but none of them had the answer as to why his back always seemed to hurt. It started as a strain, as something like a pulled muscle that refused to heal and go back to normal. It was not enjoyable, but it was not the end of the world either. 

The older he got, the more it started to hurt. Ever since he had learned to speak in complete sentences, he had been telling his mother all about the pain in his back, and she was ever sad to tell him that she knew, but could do nothing about it. Where the pain had once only been bad when he was actually pushed or prodded, a light touch was enough to set him off by the time he went to high school. 

It took him little time to learn that crying whenever someone touched his back made him an easy target. The bullies of the classes had taught him that. Not long after, he got shunned from other people, ignored and abandoned. They assumed he was just a cry baby acting out at every small thing, an attention seeker, or some weirdo. He learned to stay silent, keep it all in, bite his tongue and the insides of his cheeks whenever the pain seared through his back hotter than the fires of hell.

An ‘unknown condition’ they called it, the doctors. They had never quite seen anything like it, or heard of it, for that matter. Therefore, they kept putting him in worlds of pain whenever someone touched his back, but even after the poking and prodding, there was nothing anyone could do about it. Because nothing about it was visible except for his tears, he was bullied frequently, the other kids making it a game to poke and prod his back to see if they could get the funny reaction they so hoped for, only to laugh harder. 

The teachers didn’t do anything about it; they assumed he was doing it for attention, the so maniest cry baby just hoping for someone to pay attention to him. They looked the other way every single time he would sob silently at the edge of the playfield, and they ignored the way he flinched away from every other person. He learned to take the pain, to get used to it. He tried with all his might to keep people away from him, to keep them from touching his back, which meant he grew more isolated when the time passed. 

When his mother passed away, he was left to deal with things he was not at all ready for. He lived in a small apartment, unsure what to do with his life, taking jobs that demanded all his energy and time, only for a minimum wage. Jobs he broke his back over, and he could never truly escape the pain. It grew worse after the years, hurting even when no one touched him. The only moment he was free from most pains and stress, was when he was walking through nature. When he was alone, trees surrounding him, and lots of greens for his eyes to see. 

The pain was still there, but at least he was under no obligation to have to keep silent when it pulsated and throbbed, and he was free from the cruel touches that haunted him wherever he went. People would sometimes ask him about it when they found out, and then touch his back without his consent, frowning so bitterly as he groaned or cried out when the pain set his nerves aflame, hurting him beyond recognition, to then tell him in a condescending tone, _"It can’t hurt that much."_

He would go to the same spot he had been visiting for years. It was a small stream, the water barely reaching till above his knees whenever he walked through the liquid, flowing bravely through the forest. Its waters were clean, transparent, and sometimes he would just wade through the water and pick up shiny stones. When it was particularly warm, he would take off his clothes and lie with his back in the stream, letting the water wash over him and cool his back. Cold helped a little; sometimes he would hold ice packs against his back for some relief when it hurt a lot. 

Approaching the stream, he took off his shirt, hissing when the fabric dragged across the hypersensitive skin. Today was one of the bad days, where everything hurt. It was his free day, _thank God_ , otherwise he would not even have made it to the afternoon. He has had moments where the pain would get too much, his vision would spin and he was flat on the ground before he knew it. His condition was very real, and it hurt him more knowing that no one believed him. 

After taking off his shoes, he dipped his feet into the water, dabbling them back and forth a little, sighing at the slight release taking off his shirt had brought him. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, and thinking about what it would be like not to live in constant pain. What it would be like to be _normal_. He could have had so many things, he could have gotten successful, but who wanted to hire a man with unexplainable pains, who refused to have his back touched, and who would sometimes pass out from invisible aches? 

It was nice here, peaceful. Not many people ever came here so he knew it was safe. _He_ was safe. For a moment, there was no other world of metal and concrete and busy voices shouting into phones. There were no judging stares and scoffs. There was just him, and the water, trees and flowers all around him. Just him, and a little bit of relief. He knew he was vulnerable, sitting here like this, but he did not mind. 

That was, until his skin crawled under the cold stare of unseen eyes.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, as though someone was _watching_ him from somewhere he could not see. With a start, he cast his eyes up to see… _nothing_. Someone was watching him, he was sure of it. He did not know who they were, where they were, but he felt eyes on his body, and he did not like it. A voice in his head told him it could be an animal, a bird or a deer watching him from the thicket, gone in a minute or so, but his pounding heart told him otherwise. 

There was nothing to be seen, not a single animal or other creature, but he could feel it. A slight ring came up in his ears, only brought by an absolute silence, and it was then that he realized the birds had stopped tweeting, and there was no wind curling through the trees. It had gone entirely silent. He shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching and hands reaching for his shirt and shoes. The feeling of safety he had just been reveling in gone without a trace. This was no peace. This was a silence before the storm. A storm he did not want to get caught up in. 

His heart spiked, fear spreading through his veins faster than water flowed, and he jumped up to his feet. He snatched his stuff from the ground next to him and fled in the opposite direction of where he felt the stare coming from. Barely even five steps later, he was floored without a warning, pinned down on his stomach to the soil of the earth by strong hands. Strangely, those hands were not on his back, like he would expect them to be when attacked and forced to the ground, but rather on his shoulders and upper arms. 

Whoever it was that was pinning him down surprisingly gently. They were not trying to hurt him, it seemed, not really, somehow. The person on top of him seemed to avoid his back altogether, though their grip was one of iron. Steve struggled, but could not get himself away, or the hands off of him. The person straddled him, sitting just below the part of his back where it hurt. Steve’s breathing was quick, in and out so fast it had no chance to even reach his lungs, and his heart pounded away in his chest like it belonged to a prey running for its hide.

"Shhh, my little angel, it’s alright," a voice above him murmured, soft and gentle, a man’s voice, "It’s alright, I won’t hurt you."

Steve did not think it was alright, but something about the voice made him calm down just slightly, as if he recognized the thrill of sound that reached his ears. Perhaps he did, but he could not put a face to the noise. The hands moved, going from his biceps up to his shoulders, and then towards his neck, and though the pressure on his arms was gone, Steve still could not get himself to move. It was as though he was pinned down by an invisible force on his body, hands of air making sure he could not leave.

Gentle fingers trailed down his neck to his shoulder blades, applying a little more pressure that was barely any more than the swipe of a hand. A sharp pulse dragged through Steve’s back, like a scorching knife stabbed in his back, and he cried out in pain, kicking his legs in an attempt to buck the person off. The man, however, would not budge. Instead, he let out little shushing noises that were meant to calm him, bring him to peace. Steve was not calm, though. He was terrified, and in pain. Hot tears leaked down from the corners of his eyes, breath catching in his throat. 

"P-please," he stuttered in between sobs, "Please stop. Please, don’t hurt me. P-please just s-stop."

A moment of silence dawned on the two, with only the soft sounds of Steve’s whimpers and sniffles filling the air. Then the voice spoke again, with an air of hurt and sympathy. "Oh sweetheart," he said, "My angel, what did He do to you?"

There came no answer, Steve did not think he could ever give one. Not a single word was left in his mouth that was not a plea for the man to refrain from touching his back, the uncovered skin that was left so vulnerable. It was the sheer begging that was still there, in hopes of keeping himself from going through a pain that would leave him breathless and immobile for days, with nothing but a scorching agony to keep him up all day and all night.

Steve flinched hard when the hands skimmed his back again, and he choked on a breath, a strangled sound leaving his lips before he could stop it. Every single muscle in his body tensed, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. Any time now, it would hurt immensely. Any time now, he would be screaming in agony. He would pass out, most likely, and whoever this man was he would take advantage. He would do whatever the hell he wanted to do, because he _could_. Only…

Nothing happened.

The hands trailed up and down his bare back, fingers tracing a path up his spine, only for careful nails to drag lightly down across the same swath of skin, which felt surprisingly pleasant. It sent tiny tingles down his spine, spreading throughout his body, and it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Doctors had tried massaging him in the past, but it had only ever caused him to pass out from the pain, which made sure that his next days were spent lying on the couch, feeling as though he had been ran over by a truck, and it never helped a bit. This was different. This felt – dare he say it – _nice_. 

There was a slight rubbing, fingers working along his skin, up and down his spine in gentle waves, and pressing at his muscles, but it _didn’t hurt_. It did not hurt. For the first time in his life, someone touched his back and it just did not hurt. If anything, he had never felt so good before. The pain was still there, but it mixed with the pleasant kneading and pressing of his skin, so it felt less bad. A _lot_ less bad. ‘Less bad’ was not even the right word for it anymore, it felt _good_. He never wanted it to stop, in all honesty.

"Is that good?" the voice asked, rubbing his hands up a little higher, easing some of the pain away between Steve’s shoulder blades, "How’s that feel?"

The only answer that came was an incoherent, groggy mumble, and a soft hum from the back of his throat. Steve could not manage any other form of reply, not like this. The stranger seemed to take it as something positive – which it was – and chuckled lightly, cooing at him so fondly from his spot above. "That’s good, darling, just relax. Lemme take care of you. Like I always do."

Strong hands worked up and down Steve’s spine, kneading between his shoulders and neck, sliding the fingers back down and massaging one particular spot next to his spine multiple times. They stayed close to his shoulder blades, where Steve found it had always hurt the most. Though this was the weirdest position he had ever been in through his entirely life, he was not scared. He knew he should be, with a stranger sitting on his back, giving him a back massage at the place he had always hurt the worst, but he was not. 

He was not scared because the horrible, insufferable, never ending load of pain he had been forced to live through his _entire life_ was fading. For the first time in his life, it did not hurt, nothing did, his body was relaxed, cared for, and that was worth more than anything in the world. Beyond that, even. Having no pain, even if this moment could be so short, had to be the best out of his miserable existence, and he didn’t give two shits about who was giving it to him.. All he could think of was the pleasant feeling, and how he closed his eyes not in pain, but in silent bliss.

When the fingers hit a sensitive spot, and there was a dull throb, he groaned softly, but the pain was merely an echo of what it used to be, and he did not mind at all, if only the stranger would just continue whatever it was that was making Steve feel so good. 

"I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It’s all cramped up in there. I knew I should have come sooner." The stranger out a frustrated breath, "I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m gonna make it better. I promise. Oh, why did you go and have to fall for me, babydoll? I never wanted you to be in this much pain. To be this miserable for so long."

The stranger huffed a little. "Of course, what are a mere twenty-somewhat years on an eternity? But it’s..." the man sighed, shaking his head. "I hated seeing you like this. Crying in unspeakable pain for at least half of the time you were alive. No one to comfort you. No one to care for you. No one who knew that the pain you had was because you were not like them." There was a scoff. "Your father is a cruel man."

The hand skimmed across his back, lying still between his shoulder blades, and Steve sucked in a breath, body tending as he, through instinct, prepared himself for the worst. Instead of the expected pain, he felt something different. Something he had never felt before. It was like something shifted inside of him, but not just a bone or a muscle. A shiver ran through his body, something bracing deep in the pit of his chest, and a quick hand ran through his hair before something simply… _released_. 

Steve was panting, lips parted on quick, heavy breaths, and he closed his eyes. It was not pain that went through him, it was something completely else. The pain now faded entirely, as though it had never even been there in the first place. His body felt normal, even, balanced, like something was finally right after all these years of stumbling around blindly. Tears of relief dripped down his cheeks, and the stranger moved away, allowing Steve to push himself up to his knees and hands. He arced his back, stretching muscles he had not even been aware he _had_ , but it felt _good_. 

With hesitance, he looked up at the stranger, but instead of fear he felt much more calm. It was not the face of a stranger at all, that stared back at him. It was the face of a friend. His eyes had a red shimmer to their icy blueness, and the cutting edges on his aura told Steve a lot about him, but he _knew_ this guy. He did not even have to think deeply, it was easy to say. 

"Buck," Steve breathed out, like he finally let go of the heavy weight on his chest. 

"Hey, Stevie," Bucky said back, edging forward a little, almost carefully. He reached out a hand, slowly, testing, but that had not been needed, because Steve moved forward himself to grab that hand, hold it, unsure what to do then. Bucky swallowed heavily, but he looked happy. "You remember me, baby?"

"I think so," Steve answered, still shivering a bit with the new sensations, like a newborn fawn trying so bravely to stand on its quivering legs, "I- I know that I know you. It’s blurry. But I know. Not specifically. But I know. I think."

Feeling heavy himself, Steve lay himself back down on the forest floor to rest, feeling so at home at the purest form of nature. He was aware of all the bugs crawling around him. The ants and beetles and centipedes, even the leaves, the blades of grass and the roots deep below the dirt surface. Something stretched at his sides, something big. 

"That’s it, baby," Bucky murmured, appearing by his side to stroke his hair ever so gently. "You rest, okay? You deserve it."

Steve looked at the large, leather appendages that sat folded against Bucky’s sides. They were quite dark, but not just black. They were black and dark blue and dark grey and so much more. If anything,, they were a canvass of all colors so dark like the night sky stretched above their heads with the moons and the stars, and he could not help but smile so relieved that he saw it again. The thing that he had not known he had been missing for so long. The eyes, the lips, the face, the _everything_. It was all here. 

"I missed you," Steve said, leaning into Bucky’s hand, letting out a soft purr when the fingers started to scratch his scalp so gently, "Your wings are beautiful."

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Bucky answered, chuckling lightly. He shifted a hand to rest them on the shields of blue that lay spread beside Steve; one on either side. The hand caressed through the feathers, ruffling them slightly but not in a way that hurt or caused him discomfort. On that special way that Bucky knew how. "But you know mine can’t compare to yours."

Steve smiled, feeling so content at the moment. "I love you, Buck."

"I love you more, Steve. You ready to go home?"

 _Home_. 

Home was where Bucky was, and Steve would always be ready to follow. Because where Bucky was, love was given plenty.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fill for the Stucky Bingo 2020! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
